Memoirs of a Moron
by Nerweniel
Summary: Minerva McGonagall's more-secret-than-secret diary... Her secrets, her loves and her hates.
1. Drunk

September 2nd  
  
2 a.m.  
  
Dear diary,  
  
Another year at Hogwarts has just begun. Hooray.   
  
The Marauders are back again, in 6th now, and I already am on the edge of a serious nervous breakdown. Hooray hooray.   
  
Lucky me.   
  
I wonder what this strange, light, somewhat funny feeling inside my head might be.  
  
Oh, who am I trying to fool?  
  
I am drunk. Yes, dear diary, I, Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, am actually drunk.  
  
It's all Rolanda's fault.  
  
We had our annual start-of-the-year party, which is usually really boring- I mean, Albus who keeps on offering everybody sherbet lemons until someone starts to throw up.  
  
Period.  
  
May I please add that I have only once been the person who ended up with her head above the toilet in the Staff Room? Albus has never offered me a muggle candy afterwards. He has learned his lesson, I think. Well, who wouldn't. It is said my yelling was heard even in the Astronomy Tower. Which is a rumor, obviously, because nobody was in the Astronomy Tower at the time of speaking.   
  
But I have to admit that Albus was kind of nice to me- he actually held my hair back while I was throwing up all his bloody muggle candies. I love Albus, by the way.   
  
I yell at him, I boss him around but I love him.  
  
Minerva logic- please don't ask.   
  
Rolanda's a moron.   
  
Albus's sherbet lemons are hell, okay, but Rolanda's punch was even worse.   
  
Because it was good.   
  
How could I have known it actually contained alcohol.  
  
How could I have know it would make me actually drunk.   
  
I am an idiot. A drunken idiot. A drunken idiot who was so drunk that a certain Headmaster had to help her to her rooms because she couldn't walk properly after five (five!) glasses of wonderful strawberry punch.  
  
I hate myself.   
  
I should actually take points from Gryffindor for this.  
  
No, I shouldn't.  
  
Goodnight. 


	2. Aftermath

September 2nd  
  
8 a.m.  
  
Dear diary,  
  
I have a terrible headache and it's entirely my own fault, I am afraid. After re-reading my last diary notation, I feel utterly ashamed and my only comment is: I really was drunk. The rubbish I have written this night in really unbelievable.  
  
Rolanda's still a moron, though.  
  
I just had breakfast- but after Rolanda Hooch's one-hundred-and-fortieth reference to her wonderful strawberry punch. I didn't think my arm could have taken another nudge. I almost ran away, leaving a giggling Rolanda and a surprised Albus behind.  
  
His eyes twinkled again.   
  
I don't think I can take this anymore.   
  
My comment of last night was right about something.  
  
I love Albus Dumbledore. I have loved him since I was fifteen years old. That's more than twenty years ago now.   
  
I am a moron as well.   
  
Dear diary, what a shame, I, Minerva McGonagall, have just found out that I am a moron.  
  
I really have to forget about Albus.  
  
Maybe I should give myself detention? Oh, Minerva, stop it, you are behaving like a fifteen-year old schoolgirl who's is love with her teacher.  
  
But I am one, aren't I?  
  
No, I am not.  
  
I am speaking to myself.  
  
I am pathetic.  
  
This was it, dear diary, another part of my utterly interesting and happy life has been revealed to you. I am going to prepare now for my first class of today.  
  
The 6th year Gryffindors.  
  
Goodbye. 


	3. Shake Well

September 5th 9.34 p.m.   
  
Dear diary,   
  
What did I write again, three days ago, about "on the edge of a nervous breakdown"?   
  
Well, I think I quite am over the edge now. Potter, Black, Lupin and Pettigrew are officially appointed the nails on my coffin; I am quite serious.   
  
It all started three days ago- just after my class. They were pestering Severus Snape again, and…well, I have to admit I don't really like him either. He's in an almost obsessive way interested in the Dark Arts… and I agree with Potter on this subject- I hate the Dark Arts with a passion. Perhaps it is wrong of me, but growing up in Grindelwald's time has taught me at least something: to fear the Dark Arts. I am not easily frightened, but I have learnt that there are things one has to be afraid of. But I am straying off the subject, yet again.   
  
Because it was "Marauders (especially Potter and Black, as always) against Severus", and I don't like uneven fights, I interfered and took ten points each from Gryffindor. And none from Slytherin… I mean, the Snape kid was hanging upside down from the ceiling- I almost had pity on him.   
  
So I stopped their fun and they decided to take revenge on me. Oh, I believe they didn't really mean it- they aren't bad… even Potter and Black aren't mean kids. But they took revenge- a so-called prank, and I am not going to tell you all the details, but it involved cat food and miniature plush kittens which kept on meowing. And a bucket of… well, whatever it was, but it looked very… green. Ever-Exploding Fireworks were included in the mix. Shake well. Well, I suppose you get the picture. It probably was funny, but I wasn't exactly in the mood. Well, have you ever had a bucketful of… green mystery-substance start humming some cat food commercial in your face?   
  
I rather exploded, dear diary; they were actually surprised. And the surprise grew bigger and bigger. Minus twenty points each and two weeks of detention. Well, they had their little fun, hadn't they? I was furious… even though Remus Lupin- a prefect, by the way- assured me that the green fluid was a totally innocent substance. I didn't really care, actually. I still don't. They had their fun… now let me have mine.   
  
I need my bit of fun, really. Albus makes me go crazy… I love him, I love him, but I hereby solemnly swear that I am going to try to forget him. After all, he only is my boss and my dearest friend. That was irony, by the way;   
  
I do need a bit of fun.   
  
Especially since Professor Nemesis Aurora, my dear colleague who teaches the most wonderful art of divination is irritating me more than ever. Professor Aurora… who's name is actually Brown, but that name didn't fit with her "aura", constantly tries to read my hand, or my aura, or anything else she could possibly read. Then, she usually implies things about the Headmaster and I. She's a gossip, of course; and a fraud, yes. For I have absolutely no feelings for Albus. No. No. No.   
  
It's just that I never speak ill of my colleagues…   
  
Goodnight. 


	4. Nemesis!

September, 17th  
  
9.11 p.m.  
  
Dear diary,  
  
"I don't love Albus Dumbledore. I don't love Albus Dumbledore."  
  
Yes, I know it's stupid and a lie, but it is kind of my new "mantra", or whatever muggles call them. I am constantly repeating it in my head and I feel childish and pathetic about it. Plus, it is not working at all. It has kind of an opposite effect- I am now totally incapable of having a normal conversation with the object of my weird, abnormal and idiotic feelings; Albus, that is. And because he is my employer and my best friend, that really is quite a big obstacle. Life is miserable. Help me, help me! Wait, no, don't help me!   
  
Oh, Minerva, do you even have to argue with your DIARY? Or with yourself? My god, I am becoming more and more pathetic. The "mantra" idea was kind of my last try to get my life back to normal again. It seems to work for certain muggles; Buddhists, I think...I am not a Buddhist. I guess that's the reason why it makes me feel ridiculous instead of better. But it not only made me feel idiotic… it made me feel even worse… as if I am as weird as… as… as… Nemesis! This really is the only thing I'd never, ever want to be. Except perhaps a wind-breaking pink camel. I remember a certain incident and it really was…but that's beside the point.  
  
The point is I hate Nemesis. I hate everything about her- from her wrinkled face with those big, violet eyes, and the long, grayish-blonde hairs held back by an ugly red headscarf, to those strange, "gypsy-like" clothes she tends to wear! I hate the way she grins, I hate the way she…frustration; irritation… Yes, I know I probably am being an evil, malicious old bat, but what she did to me today was the most embarrassing thing in my entire life! The incident with the pink camel included!   
  
My dear colleague professor Aurora is a fraud, yes, but that's okay. I think that is even a required quality for teaching Divinations. But Nemesis is a gossip as well and that is dangerous, believe me! Today, in the Teacher's Lounge, with everybody –including Albus- she grabbed my hand. Not in a romantic attempt, dear diary…but you know, Ms. Aurora thinks she is very gifted in the art of palm reading. So, before I could draw back my hand, she started to examine every single little line of the palm of my hand! Then, she said out loud (and Albus just must have heard it) that "in the way my love-line crossed my life-line," she was able to read…she could read that I would fall in love with an older man. With an older man with blue eyes whom I knew very well! AND ALBUS WAS BLOODY PRESENT!  
  
I am furious- I hate, hate, hate, hate that gossipy, ugly old fraud. I could have killed her. I could have transfigured her into a… a fat, green toad… oh, sweet revenge… Yet I haven't. My self control must be amazing. Well, I teach the Marauders- I can handle anything!  
  
No, I can't.  
  
Help.  
  
Goodnight. 


	5. Their Holy Task

September 20th  
  
1 p.m.  
  
Dear diary,  
  
Oh, great. Oh, great.   
  
The Ugly Old Bat of Evilness has managed to corrupt my friends. Oh lovely, isn't it? Life is wonderful. Or…wait… no, it isn't!  
  
Yes, my dear diary, you read this well: Nemesis Aurora has made Rolanda Hooch and Poppy Pomfrey just as crazy as she herself is. Well, okay, not that crazy… just crazy enough to believe that it is their Holy Task to couple me and Albus. Which is ridiculous and childish. But isn't that exactly what Nemesis is: an old, extremely ridiculous, childish person.   
  
And Rolanda and Poppy… well, I should have known it, of course. I like them- they're quite my best friends- but Rolanda is perhaps a tad childish… okay, she's very childish… and Poppy is, and has always been, way too "shippy". Even when we were still in school…She always tried to match everyone with everyone, and though things usually didn't work out at all, she gave everyone quite a lot of embarrassing situations… and especially me. Yes. I never had boyfriends, and for some reason she seemed to think that I desperately needed one. I didn't, by the way. I've never thought of one man other than Albus since… NO, NO, NO, NO! Don't think about Albus! Don't, don't, don't! What I was just trying to say is, that Poppy's totally relationship-obsessed… she once tried to get me on a date with Tom Riddle.  
  
Yes. That Tom Riddle.  
  
Lord Voldemort, yes, dear diary. Luckily, since I hated him and he despised me, we never got any further than my "Out of my way, Riddle." and his "ever-polite" "Shut it, McGonagall."… Ah, Tom Riddle, always a challenge for one's temper. And when one possesses a particularly quick temper, like mine… But let me not spill words on him.   
  
He already is a too big part of my life. The battle against him, that is. It's now two years ago, since he started, "came to power", as some tend to put it. I don't, though. Tom Riddle -"Voldemort", as he so ridiculously calls himself- contains only of evilness, and evilness can never mean power.  
  
Or perhaps it can, but I am not in a mood to give a damn.  
  
Because I am terribly straying of my subject again. Tom Riddle is evil but he does not matter right now- what matters is the fact that Rolanda Hooch is now constantly winking at me, in an "Albus and Minerva, sittin' in a tree" way. And I was so glad she stopped singing that song when we started teaching here. Thank you very much, Nemesis!   
  
But I know out of experience that there is one thing more dangerous that Rolanda Hooch's winks.  
  
It is the dreamy expression in Poppy's eyes.  
  
Goodbye. 


	6. Crushes

September 26th  
  
8 p.m.  
  
Dear diary,  
  
Question: Aren't the Marauders absolute darlings?  
  
Answer: No.  
  
Oh, for Heaven's sake, they are 6th years, they should know something about "responsibility" by now. Unfortunately, they don't. Well, okay, Lupin *tries* to calm down Potter and Black… a little… sometimes. Of course, all his efforts are totally in vain. James Potter and Sirius Black will never, never ever, grow up. And Pettigrew… well, he just follows. You know… Potter and Black are his idols, and whatever they do is good.   
  
I don't like that kid, Pettigrew. He is quite respectful, you know, and he tries his best in class, but I still think he's a slimy little git.   
  
And yes, yes, perhaps I just am prejudiced or whatever… I am not in the mood to give a damn. Period.   
  
I still haven't told you what happened, though. Well… you know about the detention I've given them a few weeks ago… I thought it would quite calm them down for at least a month. Big mistake, of course. Yesterday, I caught them while they were sneaking off to Hogsmeade. They were using one of the secret corridors… I don't know how they know them, but they do. Weird.  
  
Unfortunately, I had the strange idea to check it during my evening patrol… call it teacher's intuition. I had transformed, of course, so they didn't notice me as I hid in the shadows. Their faces when I transformed back were actually amusing, though I didn't feel like laughing at all. We are so going to lose the House Cup… and Slytherin is leading. We'll probably be the first house to ever have a negative score at the end of the year. Wonderful. Just wonderful.  
  
But. Nemesis. Won't. Beat. Me. Or. My. Little. Cubs.  
  
Thanks to our dear Marauders, she will, though. Hell, hell, hell… hell.   
  
But you know what the worst thing is, dear diary? That, so as not to lose more points, I suppose, Black made a total idiot of him and tried his "irresistible" smile on me. Oh, I wish you'd seen him, diary, as he "seductively" stroked his hair from his brow… Then, he bloody winked at me.  
  
I couldn't help it- I produced what probably sounded like a weak giggle. I immediately almost literally hit myself and cast him one of *my* famous looks in return. The Don't-You-Try-That-Ever-Again-look. The I-Can-Turn-You-Into-A-Toad-By-One-Movement-Of-My-Wand-look. I really can, by the way. That's why I am a Transfigurations Professor. I've never done it, though. But I have been tempted many times. Yet no-one has ever tempted me like Sirius Black has… in slightly an other way as he intended to, though.  
  
Seriously, what was the boy thinking? I am perhaps not yet forty, but I am ugly, old and irritating. He was of course only trying to save himself, but yet…  
  
Well, okay, alright, I flatter myself that I am not ugly and old (I am irritating, though!). I *have* a good figure, I guess, and I like my hair- it's black, you know, real black, not dark brown.   
  
But what am I blabbing about here? If only Albus noticed those things, and not Sirius Black or another one of the average of four kids a year who have crushes on me.  
  
I hate it when kids have crushes on me. It's the doom of the teacher, I know, but it's weird and irritating. They just stare at you, you know, but when you say something, they don't hear you.. Then, they become all red and run off.  
  
It's tiring, you know.  
  
It's weird, you know.  
  
And it is exactly the thing I do when Albus talks to me.  
  
Hell.  
  
…  
  
Albus, Albus, Albus! Love me! Love me! Love me!  
  
… this was the last, desperate cry of a middle-aged witch spinster on a lonely Friday night.  
  
Goodnight. 


	7. A Confession

October 14th,  
  
1 p.m.  
  
Dear diary,  
  
Peace, finally…  
  
No, I am not converted to the hippie belief. Whatever that belief may be- those few 7th years Hufflepuffs with their long, pink/purple/blue colored hairs and flowers everywhere don't know it themselves, I believe. But that isn't exactly my point, here.  
  
The point is: the Marauders have now for more than two weeks been unusually calm. Perhaps we won't have a negative score at the end of term. Hooray!  
  
No, really, I finally get some desperately-needed rest now. Well, at least- regarding the Marauders. Rolanda and Poppy are still totally raving over Albus, of course. Yet, because I don't plan on dying prematurely of a heart attack, I ignore them. As long as they don't embarrass me…  
  
But who am I fooling, actually? They *will* embarrass me. That's one of Rolanda Hooch's greatest talents- except perhaps Quidditch. And for that matter, Poppy's not bad either.  
  
Whatever- they'll embarrass me, I'll hex them. That's life, I suppose.   
  
But I don't want to be embarrassed! I want Albus!   
  
And I really need to stop being such a child.   
  
"I want Albus!"!   
  
Okay, it's true, but still it's not like there is the faintest bit of hope I'll ever get him.  
  
Oh no- I am taking over Rolanda's expressions as well. "Get him"… god…   
  
But it's true- Albus likes me, as his friend, but as nothing more. He never will, also. And after all- why should he? I am so much younger than he is, he's the most powerful wizard of this century and who am I? A way too pale, way too thin, utterly non-interesting pathetic middle-aged spinster.  
  
And loving Albus is apparently terrible for my self-esteem.   
  
Okay, I haven't had a boyfriend since I was six. Whatever. It's not like I have ever had someone whom I wished to be with. Except Albus.   
  
It's always Albus.  
  
And by the way, Poppy and Rolanda don't have love lives either. Well, Poppy hasn't got one, and Rolanda has got too much of it. Her boyfriends are or hippies, or punks, or just very, very weird people. Go Ro! Or… no… don't go, Ro.   
  
One question, though.  
  
Am I the only thirty-six-year old who is still a virgin?  
  
Oh, shut up.  
  
Goodnight. 


	8. Her Story

October 19th   
  
0.30 a.m.  
  
Dear diary,  
  
I guess this is the point when one reaches the border of "pathetic" and enters the merry, fairytale land of "utterly, helplessly pathetic". Apparently, I can't even write to my diary what I want to write, without being terribly, utterly ashamed and feeling like a totally sad kind of person. Because that, my dear diary, is exactly the way I feel after my confession of now precisely… twelve hours, thirty-one minutes and nine seconds ago. And why, after all? I guess I am not the only thirty-six year old who is… that thing, now am I?  
  
Oh yes, I bloody well am…  
  
It is all so unfair, dear diary- and oh no, now I am going all whiny on top of it…   
  
But it is true. It all started years ago, at school, here, at Hogwarts. I was smart, you know, and I loved learning. Yet even if I didn't study, my grades were wonderful- and of course, people were jealous. All the time- people were jealous of me, and I knew that, when I exceptionally got a bad grade- a really bad grade-, even though they acted as if they were sorry for me, that they laughed at me behind my back…  
  
I had friends, yes, or what can pass as friends, but even they…  
  
I lost my best friend because of jealousy when I was sixteen, dear diary. It came like a bolt from the blue. One day, we were fine, the next day, I found a letter… The meanest and absolutely… lowest letter I have ever received. So she "had to be honest with herself and write this letter". So she "wanted to spend less time together". So she "didn't want to lose our friendship, but she had a feeling it was inevitable". So she was tired of me and so she wanted to ditch me.  
  
We had been best friends for six bloody years. Did she really think I had never been tired of her? Did she? Did she?  
  
But I wanted to fight for my best friend, no matter what. She didn't. She ditched me, immediately found another friend, and I was just, like that, left outside alone.  
  
I had other "friends", but they all had their own little groups and their own best friends and I was alone.  
  
In that very sad, last term of my fifth year, my teachers were my best friends.  
  
Or, at least one of them. Guess who.  
  
And months, years went on. I never had really good friends again. I never had boyfriends, dear diary, call me pathetic, call me sad, but that was exactly the way it was.  
  
I wasn't ugly, and I wasn't unkind- well, so I realized years later- but I apparently was too intelligent for "their world". I always have been grateful for my brains, but that was the time when I realized they were a curse as well as a blessing.  
  
I grew more and more serious. No fun and childish parties for the formidable Minerva McGonagall. She- I-, became a teacher soon after she graduated, and goodbye whatever I had left of a youth.   
  
And yes, I found two friends of whom I am pretty sure- Poppy and Rolanda, that is- but it still is very difficult to put my entire trust into someone. Except, perhaps, that special someone, because, when I returned to Hogwarts, at least one thing was sure.  
  
I totally, helplessly, fell in love with Albus all over again.  
  
So that is my story, dear diary, now aren't I pathetic?  
  
Damn, bloody hell, after thirty-six years on this planet, I don't know who I am, I don't know what I do, I don't know what I need- but… but hey, I do know what I want.  
  
I want ALBUS!  
  
Goodnight. 


	9. Law Of Nature

October 29th  
  
6.30 P p.m.  
  
Dear diary,   
  
At the time of speaking, I am sitting at my desk. My hair is dangling loosely across my face, my cheeks are burning and my eyes are puffy. Before me lies a thoroughly soaked piece of written on parchment. My hands are in my hair, I am biting my lips and yet I don't feel bad.  
  
Ha! Surprise, isn't it, my dear diary? Yes, I admit it- after my last note I was nothing less than broken- I've never ever entrusted those feelings to anyone, and certainly not to parchment. Now, I have, though, and yes, I could have ripped the parchment into pieces, wiped all ink away, but still, my quill has not only carved the words I so needed to get out into my parchment, but also in my mind. And no spell can ever wipe them away from that place… I felt miserable, broken- let's put it this way: "not entirely well"… But that is over now.  
  
Though mere minutes ago, I was on the edge of not a nervous breakdown but a sheer heart attack, one small note has just made my day. Or no- has not made my day- has given me hope to eventually make my day. Yes, I am a pessimist. Always have been- it has protected me against many things in the long years of my life.  
  
It all began a few hours ago- I came out of the girls' bathroom on the second floor… or no, I did not come out of it. When I was about to leave it, the voices of two very well-known students and the sudden mention of my name made me stand still. I don't know why- I have never been a curious person- but really, I could not risk another Marauder prank to be performed on me, so I listened. I hissed rather angrily at Myrtle, who was in a quite hysterical mood, but she eventually shut up and I heard them.  
  
"I know it!" James Potter exclaimed quite enthusiastically. "Yeah, Padfoot," -the ridiculous nicknames those kids give each other!- "…mate, I know it! You, the so-called ladies' man of Hogwarts have not yet dated the Greatest Challenge of them all! Namely our dear Transfigurations teacher… admit it, Pads, you cannot hook our dear McGonagall, can you?"  
  
At this, I merely smiled. Children are silly- fact of life. Then, a softer voice- Lily Evans, I suspected, snapped  
  
"Really, James, grow up- I mean…"  
  
But Black interrupted her… and how.  
  
"Yeah well, you know, Prongs…" he said, totally ignoring Miss Evans.  
  
"I know, but hey, that one is like, too much of a challenge… y'know what I mean?"  
  
They both laughed- but I did not when I heard his next words.  
  
"I mean, it's not as if any man will ever dare touch that one- I…"  
  
I did not even hear the rest of their conversation. I ran out of the bathroom, pushing everything in my way aside, and to my own great frustration, I felt tears on my cheeks.  
  
Potter and Black did not notice me, luckily, but I daresay Miss Evans did. She looked rather upset…  
  
And so, in a blur, shocked, crying and feeling utterly ridiculous, I reached my rooms.  
  
I was ridiculous. I mean, I am a teacher, and students say mean things about their teachers all the time. Second fact of life!  
  
But those words cut straight through my heart… I am ashamed for it and yet I must admit it.   
  
Those words ripped my heart out.  
  
Until, only sheer minutes ago, a small piece of parchment was shoved under my door…  
  
I will copy its words, dear diary, because it- she- made me happy. Stupid, but true.  
  
"Dear Professor McGonagall," it, hesitatingly, began.  
  
"I could not help but notice tears in your eyes earlier this day, as you accidentally overheard part of a "conversation"- if it deserves such a name- between James and Sirius. But, Professor, they are idiots but they are not mean. You haven't heard Sirius' entire sentence, Professor, when he spoke about "no man ever daring to touch you". Because his entire sentence was "it's not as if any man will ever dare touch that one- I… I think Dumbledore would skin the brave chap alive. I mean, it's so damn obvious… he almost eats her with his eyes."… I know this is immature talk, Professor, but you deserve to know exactly what they said. Anyway, I hope this made you feel any better. What you share with Professor Dumbledore is, I am sure of that, James Potter will never experience!  
  
Yours sincerely,  
  
Lily Evans"  
  
I cried again after I had read that letter, but I cried out of happiness. My god… Lily Evans is a dear. Albus, Albus, could it be true?  
  
There is hope for me!   
  
That's law of nature no three.  
  
There is hope for me.  
  
Goodnight. 


	10. Hope

November 1st,  
  
11.00 a.m.  
  
Dear diary,  
  
OK- just forget the optimism of my last letter!  
  
My so-called relationship with Albus is still exactly was she has always been… non-existing! I think Miss Evans' view has, like that of most girls her age, been blurred by a too romantic mind. Albus often smiles at me, true, but that's only logical- I am one of his best friends. And yes his eyes do twinkle, but then again they always twinkle! He has such wonderful eyes, you know…  
  
Alright, Minerva, stop acting teenager-ish and face it… But face what?  
  
Damn, I don't know. Headache, oh, headache.  
  
And not only because of Albus- heck, I should have been having headaches for twenty ruddy years in that case. Also because of the number one reason of teachers' headaches.  
  
The Marauders.  
  
They have again broken into the Restricted Section of the library. They should have known better by now, though- James Potter may own an Invisibility Cloak, that won't help him if he gets deaf one of these days! Although it would be a more proper punishment than taking points from Gryffindor… hell, I don't want to take any more points from Gryffindor!  
  
I wonder what they are searching for, actually. It is not plain mischief this time- they are way too persistent. But the Restricted Section only contains of books on advanced Defense against the Dark Arts and Transfigurations… not really two of their interest, really. Anyway, they have even tried a few forged notes! Poor Pettigrew kid- being the slowest of the foor, Irma Pince's curse hit him the worst. He was out of the Hospital Wing in three days, though, which must be a record indeed!  
  
Yes, Irma Pince… She's been at Hogwarts since my own school days, actually- and it was not easy to trick her, yet Poppy's talent for imitating other people's handwriting managed to deceive her once!  
  
Anyway, the Marauders are going to make us lose the House Cup one of these days- and I will then unfortunately have to kill them.   
  
I am already in a bad mood- and…  
  
Hey, wait, dear diary, do I perceive a new Marauders prank? Something is shoved under my door- gods, I'll bite them…  
  
=10 minutes and uncontrolled cries of happiness later=  
  
My. Dear. Beloved. Diary.  
  
You cannot possibly believe what just happened; you can't. You cannot. You simply- can't!   
  
So, about 10 minutes ago, I ran towards the door and furiously threw it open. I saw no-one- heard some footsteps in the distance. Before me, on the floor, lay a piece of written on parchment. I must admit I eyed it rather suspiciously.   
  
Until I recognized the handwriting.  
  
It was Albus's- his very own, curly yet neat scribbling, and his very own purple ink.   
  
I can't possibly tell you what it said- I will copy it!  
  
=  
  
Dearest Minerva –he called me "dear"!-  
  
I think me and you have some things to discuss, so I suggest having a quiet, nice dinner together. Might I propose tomorrow as a suitable date? Tomorrow night, 8 o'clock, Room of Requirement?  
  
Love,  
  
Albus  
  
=  
  
It is so short, but so extremely hope-giving!.   
  
No, Minerva, mustn't dream, mustn't dream…   
  
But I cannot help it.  
  
I will have sweet dreams tonight.  
  
Goodnight. 


	11. Damn

November 2nd

Noon.

Dear diary,

Well up to now, this day's been an absolute disaster, I must admit. I've been on the edge of a nervous breakdown twenty-three times today and I've only been up for five-and-a-half hours. My personal record, as Rolanda would say. But it is true, after all. And yes, yes, I have been up since five-thirty this morning. I was nervous.

Oh goodness, so the ridiculously-in-love-teenager inside of me has finally shown its ugly head to the world, apparently. Goodness, I have spent my entire childhood raising my eyebrows at these kind of people. And now, thirty-six years of age, I'm finding out that I can act exactly the same way. Why, isn't this all great fun.

The worst thing of all, perhaps, is that I am actually beginning to acknowledge that this all could really be great. If Albus were here. If Albus were here to offer me one of those terribly sticky muggle sweets of his, if he were here to lay his arm around my shoulders and pull me closer- then, yes, then I could perhaps, maybe, just close my eyes and be happy.

It's just such a terrible pity that that will never happen. Yesterday was a dream- just one of those vexing dreams of a frustrated spinster who yearns for something that will never ever be hers. I am holding the, his, note right now- and it seems so real, so firm against my fingers. I smell the ink and I know that he has really written it, but I still can't believe it.

I am so sad, you know.

Perhaps Rolanda is right after all. Perhaps I should really stop worrying and "get on with it" as Ro says. Perhaps. The problem is that I am not like Ro. I'm not such a blabbermouth, such an overly enthusiastic, friendly, thoroughly _attractive _kind of person. I'm Minerva, you know. Minerva, the stuck-up prude old spinster, with her ugly vampire hair and terrible cat-like eyes. Remember her? No, of course you don't.

Damn, I am tired. It's noon and I'm tired- which is really not a good thing, for I have the 6th year Slytherins this afternoon, and honestly- oh well, I can always change them in a bunch of green-silver canaries I suppose.

Bad, bad Minerva.

I don't even have the power to slap myself in the face anymore.

Damn.


	12. Attention

November 2nd

7.00 p.m.

Dear diary,

This is a desperate attempt to kill myself- just co-operate, alright?  
Okay.  
So.

ATTENTION, THIS DIARY NOTE WILL DESTROY ITSELF IN EXACTLY FIVE SECONDS!

FIVE!

FOUR!

THR- oh who am I trying to fool anyway, dear diary…

I won't escape this damn date, as Rolanda calls it. Ha ha. A date. Minerva McGonagall's got herself a date. Rolling on the floor laughing. Who on earth will ever believe this?

Goodness, now I really wished I hadn't told Poppy or Ro about this. Then I'd be able to just stay here, in the nice peace of my very own rooms- without having to face the fact of my only true love not loving me back- or worse, not loving me "that way". Because I know Albus somewhat cares about me- but just as a friend, and Poppy and, especially, Rolanda, don't seem to get that. Big, frustrated sigh.

How will I ever survive this hour of sheer, expectant and hopeful, torture- how will I ever face this night, this night of crying in my pillow and praying just to forget about him- of knowing that I'll never be able to? Every time I watch him walking the grounds, blue eyes twinkling, beard looking so majestic, so ancient and yet so ever-young too- yes then I love him. Those are the times when I know that I could give my life for him- that I could utterly and happily pass away for him, and die with a smile on my face. Those are the times when I, secretly, give up all hope that I will ever love another. I love him too much- have loved him for too long, to ever forget about him. He is too much to me.

A friend, a colleague, a boss, a confidant- and a lover.

In my dreams.

And here I am now, it's 7.15 and I feel bad. Thoroughly bad. In the mirror, I see the spinster that I am, staring right back at me with my own, green eyes. I know many people go through life with their real personalities hidden under some kind of mask- but my problem is exactly the opposite. My reflection shows whom I really am, and I don't like it. I know I am supposed to be my own, so-called self-confident self- but well, it is true, I have confidence in myself and my abilities, but not now, not in this kind of business.

Goodness, how will I ever live through these forty minutes? I, who's never nervous, am stressing and- for what? For nothing.

I'll just be disappointed again and I will have no-one but myself to blame.

At least I have that.

Goodnight.


	13. Hello

With a sigh and a curt shake of her head, the dark-haired witch with the radiant green eyes closed the leather-covered book that had been her diary for many years now. One look on the clock proved what she had feared- still thirty minutes to go, thirty minutes of- almost- literally biting her nails and of suppressing upcoming headaches, of feeling ugly and knowing that that feeling was justified. One look in the mirror proved that thought- she looked pale, depressed and utterly, terribly exhausted. Her robes hung around her body like some emerald-coloured, cotton bag- and her hair in its bun suddenly looked nothing less than ridiculous as one of the usual hairpins fell on the floor, producing a metallic sound in the process. A lock of hair fell loosely around her shoulders, and she bit her lips. Would she- could she ever- but already had her hand raised her wand and there the hairpins went.

A thick mass of raven black hair fell down, reaching her lower back- and she couldn't keep a grin off her still pale face as she slightly inclined her head. It was such a long time ago since she had last seen herself that way. Of course she combed her hair every morning and night- but never did she look at her own reflection in the mirror then. She had once heard a friend of hers call her hair "that spider's web" behind her back- and somehow, self-confident and strong Minerva McGonagall had always been easily hurt by remarks about her looks. It was strange, but it was her weakness, which she had through the years managed to hide as well as possible.

She knew a lot of people thought her ugly- or at least, pretended to think so. She was not stupid, she knew that jealousy had through the years incited many of the poisonous remarks, but still. Jealousy or not, the bitter words of many people had slowly found its way to her mind- and she had started to really believe in her own unattractiveness. After all, would he love her back if she were really pretty? Wouldn't he? Minerva had never been much liked by boys- and they, unconsciously, had managed to destroy a part of her natural self-confidence in the end.

But now she was, with a strangely confident gesture, brushing her long, thick manes- and for some reason she really smiled as she put on a new pair of robes. Not emerald, this time, but a deep, dark red. Normally, she only wore these on special occasions but, as Ro had almost hissed in her ear at lunchtime, "this could be a very special occasion"! Of course she didn't believe that for a moment- but one never knew.

When she stood up, she felt ridiculous, but in a funny way. For some reason, she knew that it was now or never. If he would refuse her now, if he would by either moves or words make clear that he did not and would never want her- then she had decided to disappear from his life. Wholly. After all, another Transfiguration teacher would sooner or later arrive at Hogwarts- a teacher just as capable as she was- and he, Albus, would forget about her. She'd be forgotten by all, except, perhaps, in the archives of the school- where she would be remembered as the old spinster she had been.

She did not even feel sad anymore at the prospect of ending her life on her own, in some abandoned old house on the countryside. After all, nothing could be worse than living the rest of her life in his company, his friendship, knowing that there would never be anything more.

And when she got up from her vanity table, Minerva knew that indeed she was taking the right decision. Slightly stretching her back some more, she finally remembered that she was a Gryffindor- and the colours of Red and Gold run through her veins as they had ran through those of her family for many, many years. Her late parents would turn around in their graves if they ever, ever found out that their Min, their Rós na h-Alba, their Rose of Scotland, refused to see what was so very obvious, and that just- just out of cowardice… For cowardice it was.

The clock struck quarter to seven as Minerva closed the heavy, ebony wooden door behind her back, more determinedly than she had felt in a long time. Her knock on that other ebony door- the one guarded by the gargoyle, which gladly opened at the words "Ni nom, ni âge". She had never really wondered about their meaning. A muggle sweet, perhaps- or some kind of dish. She knew the words were French, but though she knew Latin, Gaelic, English and a bit of Flemish, even, she had never learnt French, even though she'd always thought it a pretty language. Albus spoke it fluently- and apparently he enjoyed using passwords no-one but him understood. She smiled. Another proof of that so obvious eccentricity of his- another bit of him that she loved.

And suddenly she found herself standing in front of him- looking straight into those radiant blue eyes of his. When her knees went weak, she knew that this was going to be a whole lot more difficult than she had thought it would be. As he extended his arm, for some reason looking just as insecure as she was, though it was he who had proposed the date, she nodded and gratefully got hold of it.

"Hello, Albus."

Her own voice sounded ridiculous.

_Some men just looked too good._


	14. Fourteen?

"I- um- I prepared a bit of dinner for us, if that's alright with you, my dear?"

She wondered why he was asking her, actually- it had been him who had organized this whole date-thing, hadn't it?- but still she nodded, gifting him with what she didn't know was a radiant smile. The words "my dear" warmed her heart the way they always did, after all, and the hesitant smile on his face was a true one, reflecting the ever-present twinkles of those _damn _attractive sapphire eyes of his.

"Of course it is, Albus. Why wouldn't it be, after all?"

As the man of her life guided her towards a small table, Minerva was happily surprised when she noticed he had managed to get hold of quite a few of her favourite dishes. Even caviare- a muggle dish, and an expensive one too!- and with a slight smile she shook her head.

"Albus, really- you should not have done this all- I know how expensive it is, and after all there's no need to spoil me like this…"

--

Little did the couple know, though, that only separated from them by a few feet, hidden inside of one of Albus's closets, an exasperated Poppy Pomfrey and Nemesis Aurora found themselves struggling to keep an irritated Rolanda Hooch under control.

"Rolanda, how old are you again? _Five_?" the Mediwitch hissed as the finger of the Flying Instructor hit her straight into the eye. Rolanda just shook her head, though.

"Can you hear their conversation? For heaven's sake, how old are _they_? _Fourteen_?"

--

"I am only too happy to spoil you a little, Minerva- you deserve it."

Now Albus realized very well that that line had most probably sounded like a ridiculous opening line of one of those rather ridiculous muggle romance novels he had once caught his own mother reading. Those novels Minerva certainly did _not _read.

"I mean, even though we are working together, having one's pretty Deputy entirely for oneself is a rather rare privilege, after all."

This was better, but it still came out entirely wrong. Oh well.

At least he had managed to almost magick a deep, red blush on her cheeks and as she lowered her eyes he could not believe his ears as she spoke up. Where had her self-confidence, her strength, her sternness even, gone?

"I know I am not pretty, Albus. You do not need to tell lies."

--

"I am going to kill them! What are they talking about now? I mean…"

"Rolanda, I think I may feel the need to push my headscarf into your blabbing mouth if you don't shut up now!" hissed a suddenly much more earthy than ever before Nemesis Aurora, before giving the Flight Instructor's arm a rather nasty squeeze. All of a sudden, the rather ridiculous Divination teacher looked more like Minerva herself than even she herself would ever have guessed, and the grey eyes almost shot fire- causing Rolanda to slightly grumble and then push her ear against the closet's keyhole once more.

--

Oh great, so that line had sounded like a desperate wish for a compliment, Minerva angrily thought, biting her lips as if in an attempt to stop saying- in her opinion- absolutely ridiculous things. Her employer and friend merely smiled, though.

"Goodness, Minerva, any man who does not fall in love with you right away is an idiot, and I think you very well know that!"

Wrong judgement. No, she did not know that- and gazing at his face through her dark lashes, she examined his the expression in his eyes. Was he mocking her? No- she could not believe that.

Not only did Albus Dumbledore despite his ever-present sense of humour rarely mock anyone, she also knew that he would never mock anyone if he was sure it would hurt them. And this could and would have very hurtful to her in every single circumstance- save this one. She did not know why she believed that he had meant what he'd said- but for some reason, that she did. The blush on her cheeks now burnt down her neck and shoulders as well- she could feel it- and as she looked up to him, accidentally their gazes locked.

"I was delighted when I received your note, my dear. I- Minerva, I-"

--

"He's hesitating! See, he is still hesitating!"

Poppy Pomfrey sent her friend a stern gaze too, now, but Rolanda would not be stopped this time. Even the faint, just barely audible "Headscarf, headscarf…" mumbles of their colleague were no use- Rolanda was fuming.

"Poppy Annamaria Pomfrey, if you do not do something right away, I will- I will- oh, I don't know what I will- but be damn sure that I will do it!"

Both Poppy and Nemesis rolled her eyes, and as the Divination teacher cast the Meditwitch a begging look, Poppy nodded.

"Mmmh- mmh!"

The headscarf apparently didn't taste too well, but as Poppy raised her wand, Rolanda finally resolved into silence.

The next moment, a small note appeared on the table- right between Albus and Minerva.


	15. How?

The way the two people stared at each other in surprise was quite hilarious indeed and, as Poppy later on remarked, as she re-told the story to the whole Teacher's Lounge, would have resulted in many hysterical giggles from the Hooch-corner- but unfortunately that corner was somewhat hindered in its actions by a certain, reddish piece of dusty cloth- and both Nemesis and Poppy were way too curious to so much as smile.

"What's on it, Poppy?"

"Wait and see!"

--

"Do you think we should read it?" Minerva asked after a rather ear-deafening silence. The strange tension had left- and all of a sudden, she had returned to herself, or at least it felt that way. The fog had been chased from her brain and here she was again- practical and not easily frightened, the way she had always been. And he, he who was looking at her, his light blue eyes twinkling, was her only love and damn he should have known that for a long, long time! Fixing his face, she realized she'd rarely been so close to him- if only she reached out her fingers- if only she raised her hand- it would be resting on his cheek, and everything would be alright… Almost biting her lips in concentration, she planned on doing this- until his voice, slightly hoarse and undoubtedly soft, but still rather decided, uttered an answer to her question.

"I do believe it is meant for us, my dear… so perhaps we should."

As Minerva's quite disappointed fingers started slowly unfolding the small piece of parchment, she found it totally impossible to take her gaze off his terribly close face- and as he smiled an incredibly loving smile, she was more than rewarded for her clumsy attempts to open the small letter without looking at is. Finally, she did tear her eyes from the face she loved reading more than any sentence- but as the words on the parchment slowly, slowly, reached her mind, all she could do was gasp.

A fierce blush spread over her cheeks and neck- and her fingers trembled as she folded the piece of paper again- quickly, as if in a vain attempt to keep him from reading it.

How- how- how? That was the sole word echoing through her head as she lowered her eyes in an embarrassed manner as his incredibly soft fingers slowly opened her hand so as to reveal the letter. How- oh goodness. With a brusque movement, she stood up as he did not react on the contents of the parchment- even after a few minutes. Fumbling with the hem of her robe, trying very hard not to cry, a few steps led her to the ebony door she had so very hopefully walked through a few minutes earlier.

"Dear Albus, dear Min, we all know you love each other- make a move!"

His voice sounded strangely loud after the long silence- yet it was… pensive as well, and Minerva's tears rolled freely over her cheeks as he gazed up at her.

"Ah, the ever-subtle Rolanda Hooch. Or Poppy, perhaps- they're equally dangerous, aren't they, Minerva?"

Yet here his tone changed. No longer easygoing and merry, her name reminded him, apparently, of the contents and meaning of the words he had just so bluntly read out loud.

"Minerva?"

And of course she was unable to move. Pinned between the door and his approaching form, nothing more than a mere, soundless gasp escaped Minerva's slightly parted lips.

So this was it. So this was the end of everything- of friendship, of admiration- of every single root of love which had, perhaps, perhaps, ever grown between them. As he came closer and closer, even his almost hypnotic, blue eyes could not keep her from crying.

And yet the sobbing slightly lessened as he came to a stop and to her great surprise simply stood there. No reproaches- no questions- not even any vain explanation of why it could never be.

Her breathing became ragged as she felt, sensed, his eyes scanning every inch of her face- as if they were looking for something.

Her unspoken question was answered on the very next moment as, all of a sudden, his hands cupped her cheeks and everything was fine.

"I looked for love, Minerva. And I have found it."

And as his lips touched hers, as all love and adoration she had felt during all those terrible years was reflected over and over again by his feelings, Minerva knew why she had lived loveless and hesitant for thirty-six years. Why she had never "moved on", why she had never left Hogwarts, why she had never even so much as attempted to meet other men. The answer was so very simple after all.

Because she had always been so terribly and utterly his.

Because his name and his alone was engraved on the doors leading to her heart- like a password, like a bittersweet secret leading to all those places which had never been discovered before- to the depths of where rigid, prudish Minerva McGonagall's feelings could lead after all.

And everything had been worth it. So many times had she doubted herself or even her sanity as she had kept pining after her Professor, even after ending her studies at Hogwarts- after her Professor, who was so many years her senior. She'd thought herself insane and abnormal for most of her life, and perhaps she was.

But as she felt his arms around her waist and his, smiling, face against hers, it all didn't matter anymore.

--

Until on that very moment a dry crack ended the life of one of the firm, wooden closet doors, and with a scream, Rolanda Hooch fell on the cold, stone floor of the Headmaster's quarters…


	16. Bliss

November 3rd

9.00 p.m.

Dear diary,

I love him- oh goodness, how do I love him!

And you know what, dear diary? He loves me too! He's loved me ever my seventeenth birthday, he told me yesterday- I could barely believe it. How could any one fall in love with me, I wonder- but he tells me that he has and I have never had any reason to not believe anything he says, so I guess it is true- and I am so very happy! I just wished the whole world felt the way I do right now- it would be such a beautiful place… But what am I rambling on about- the world is a beautiful place after all.

I am so very happy. I'm even happy enough to forgive Rolanda, Poppy and even Nemesis for all they did- I am happy enough to thank them for it, can you imagine? For of course it was them who organized it all- the date and everything. I should have seen it, of course, but alas, love appears to blind people in the end. Naturally it was my three weird and entirely abnormal friends who could see what was visible to all in the end- to all, except to me and Albus, then.

Then again I really do appreciate their matchmaking powers for once- though I really believe my heartbeat stopped for a moment as Rolanda tumbled straight through Albus's closet door with a headscarf in her mouth! Goodness! They had to admit it all then, of course.

I cannot believe the way they organized this. They forged the letters- for Albus thought it was me who had proposed the date- including the handwriting, and then they even so much as stole some sort of map from Potter and Black, so as to find a secret passage into Albus's private rooms! That's how they got inside of that closet in the first place- and the least one could say is that Albus was a tiny little bit surprised.

As were the three conspirators, actually, as I- totally uncharacteristically, even I admit that!- promptly forgave them everything and, only this morning, told them to go shopping for new dresses as soon as possible. Because in two weeks, I am to leave the McGonagall name behind me for good. Well, unofficially at least- but still. For I, Minerva Caítriona McGonagall, also known as She With The Vampire Hair And The Cat Eyes, will be united in marriage with the most handsome and wonderful man in the world. Yes, Albus has asked me, and yes, I have accepted right away. It is as he stated- two people who've known each other for such a long time, in friendship, don't need half a lifetime to find out they are meant for each other. Which we are.

I'll never forget his proposal, dear diary- never, never. He asked me yesterday night- or better, this morning, at 4 o'clock, after we- um- well, let us just state that this was one of the more… interesting nights of my life.

And I love him.

Dear diary, I do not know whom, how or where I will be, ten, twenty or even thirty years from now- but now at least I know that I will be there with Albus.

And nothing else matters.

Goodnight.

**Author Note:  
**Well, I know it took me very long to finish this story, and I want to thank everybody who reviewed it! You rule the world, all of you! 


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